_TO THE NIGER._
Writing home on the 29th of May, Park, calculating from his rate of
progress so far, predicted that he would reach the Niger on the 27th
of June. It was now the 27th of July, and he was still in the heart of
Wuladu, and quite a hundred miles in a straight line from Bammaku, his
primary destination.
Meanwhile every one of the donkeys he had originally started with had
died or been stolen, and great inroads had been made on his stores in
replacing them, not to speak of the loss entailed by plunder and other
unforeseen causes. Twenty of his men had died or been murdered, and all
of them were more or less unfit for work. Nevertheless his hopes were
as unquenchable as ever, and he buoyed himself up with the belief that
if he could reach the Niger with a certain proportion of his caravan,
the success of his mission would be assured, as the rest of the wet
season might be passed in comparative comfort while making preparations
for navigating the river. Once launched on its broad bosom, there would
be no more transport difficulties, and but little work for his men, so
that everything might be expected to end happily and successfully.
Looking forward thus hopefully, Park turned S.W. from Bangassi, the
chief town of Wuladu, and set his face towards Bammaku. But however
sanguine he might be, he could not improve the conditions of his march.
The rains were now at their very worst. They fell no longer in passing
tornadoes, but in an incessant drenching downpour. Every stream was
swollen to the dimensions of a river--every plain became a lake or
swamp through which the luckless travellers had to slip and plunge as
best they might. The very pathways developed into rushing torrents.
Subjected to such conditions of travel, disease demanded its daily
quota of victims, while reducing the strength of all to the vanishing
point. The men speedily became unable to load their animals--could
hardly even drive them along. Nearly the whole work of the caravan fell
upon its indomitable leader, who even on the road would sometimes have
as many as thirteen fallen donkeys to raise up and reload.
On the 7th of August matters became so bad that he found it necessary
to halt for two days--a delay which to him was almost maddening.
At the Ba Wulima, Park found Anderson lying under a bush apparently
dying, and had to carry him over on his back. To assist in the
transport of loads, &c., he had to cross the river sixteen times, with
the water reaching to his waist. In spite of his exertions, however,
several soldiers with their donkeys had to be left behind.
In two days four men had been lost--the slow agony of death from fever
being undoubtedly in each case accelerated by the daggers of robber
negroes or the fell fangs of wolves and other wild beasts.
On the day after leaving the Ba Wulima, Park was the only European able
to do any work, and but for the assistance of Isaaco and his men, the
caravan would have been compelled to remain in camp. The day’s march
was a trying one. Anderson seemed at the point of death, and it was
with difficulty that his brother-in-law succeeded in holding him on
a horse. Every hour threatened to be his last, and only by frequent
rests could he be got forward in short stages. While thus employed
supporting and cheering his well-loved friend on the way towards camp,
Park was suddenly confounded by coming face to face with three large
lions making rapidly towards them. Intent first of all on saving
Anderson, with splendid courage he ran forward to meet them half way,
and so as to reserve himself a second chance if his musket should miss
fire, he aimed as soon as the lions were within easy shot, and fired
at the middle one of the three. This reception brought the enemy to
a standstill, and after seemingly taking counsel of each other, they
turned tail and bounded away. One, however, quickly stopped, and turned
round as if meditating another attack, but thinking better of it, again
resumed its flight, and left the travellers to continue their way,
though not without the strongest suspicions that they were still being
tracked, and might be pounced upon in the fast gathering darkness.
Before camp was reached the path taken by the caravan was lost, and in
the darkness Park and his companion wandered into a gully, where the
road became so dangerous that at length they dared not move further
from fear of being killed by falling over a precipice. Accordingly
they were compelled to make the best of their position, and wait till
morning tentless and foodless. Fortunately they were able to raise
a fire, near which, while Anderson lay wrapt in a cloak, Park kept
watch all night, to drive off lions and wolves. In the morning it was
discovered that half the caravan had passed the night in scattered
parties in much the same manner as their leader. Happily there were no
casualties.
At a place called Dumbila, Park had the pleasure of meeting his old
friend and protector, Karfa Taura. Here Anderson became too ill to be
moved, Scott had disappeared, and only one man was able to drive a
donkey. At night rain descended in drenching torrents, and the men took
refuge in the village, leaving their leader alone to watch that the
donkeys did not stray into the neighbouring corn-fields, and to defend
them and their loads alike from the attacks of wild beasts and from the
bands of marauding natives. But no matter how heavy the burdens, not a
grumble escaped the hero who had to bear them all--not a hint that he
felt himself badly treated by his men and their officers.
On the 19th of August, Park, with the helpless, shattered remnant of
his caravan, ascended the mountain ridge which forms the watershed
between the Senegal and the Niger. Pushing on eagerly to the summit of
the hill, the toil and careworn traveller’s eyes were gladdened by the
spectacle of the “Niger rolling its immense stream along the plain.”
“After the fatiguing march which we had just experienced, the sight of
this river was no doubt pleasant, as it promised an end to, or at least
an alleviation of, our toils. But when I reflected that three-fourths
of the soldiers had died on the march, and that in addition to our
weakly state we had no carpenters to build the boats in which we
proposed to prosecute our discoveries, the prospect appeared somewhat
gloomy. It, however, afforded me peculiar pleasure when I reflected
that in conducting a party of Europeans with immense baggage through
an extent of more than five hundred miles, I had always been able to
preserve the most friendly terms with the natives.”
The latter sentence is well worthy of note as illustrative of Park’s
methods of travel at a time when the sanctity of human life, whether
black or white, was not quite so much thought of as at present.
In speaking of the distance traversed as five hundred miles, it must
be remembered that what is meant is the distance in a straight line
expressed in geographical miles. The actual number of English miles
travelled over would be in reality little short of a thousand.
Notwithstanding his frightful experiences, Park considered that his
“journey plainly demonstrates--first, that with common prudence any
quantity of merchandise may be transported from the Gambia to the Niger
without danger of being robbed by the natives; second, that if this
journey be performed in the dry season, one may calculate on losing not
more than three, or at most four men, out of fifty.”
We would naturally have expected him to add as a third conclusion, that
under no circumstance should Europeans be employed in such a caravan
except as conductors, or it might be as guards. That conclusion,
however, he apparently did not reach--indeed, we look in vain
throughout his journal for any indication that he was at all aware of
the frightful nature of his blunder in starting only with Europeans.
And yet before him was the tangible fact, that of thirty-four soldiers
and four carpenters who left the Gambia with him, only seven entered
Bammaku, while Isaaco and his attendants were all alive and hearty,
though much of the white men’s work had fallen upon them in addition to
their own.
Three days after their arrival at Bammaku the travellers continued
their way. Martyn, with the men and the donkeys, proceeded by land,
while Park, Anderson, and the goods glided down the river in canoes,
at the rate of five knots an hour, without the necessity of paddling.
At their starting point the river was a mile broad; but further down,
where it passes through a range of hills and forms rapids, it attains
twice that breadth. Here the great mass of water is gathered into
three principal channels, along which it rushes with much noise, and
a speed which made Park sigh as the frail canoes containing all his
precious stores sped into the sweeping tide, and seemed threatened with
momentary destruction.
Two such rapids and three smaller ones were safely passed during the
afternoon. At one place an elephant was seen standing on an island, so
near that if Park had not been too ill, he would have had a shot at it.
At several points the canoes ran considerable danger of being upset
by hippos. At night the party landed, and after a supper of rice and
fresh-water turtle, spent a night exposed to the violence of a tropic
storm.
At Marrabu, where they arrived on the second day, a halt was called,
while Isaaco was despatched to Sego with a message and a present for
Mansong, king of Bambarra, whose good offices were likely to prove
invaluable, ruling as he did over the whole country from Bammaku to
Timbuktu. While awaiting his messenger’s return, Park, who had been
suffering from dysentery ever since his arrival on the river, and found
himself failing fast under its deadly attacks, dosed himself with
calomel till it affected his throat to such a degree that he could
neither speak nor sleep for six days. The experiment was successful,
however, as regards stopping the progress of the disease, and his
health speedily began to improve.
The interval of waiting to which he was now subjected was a time of
extreme anxiety. The check which all the physical difficulties of the
march and the death of three-fourths of his men had failed to give
him might be effected by the will of Mansong. On the decision of the
negro ruler depended Park’s further movements. A Yes might assure the
complete realisation of all his dearest hopes--a No would be their
death-knell.
Each day brought its crop of unfavourable rumours. Among others came
the report that Mansong had killed Isaaco with his own hands, and
intended to finish off the white men in a similar summary fashion.
Happily this and kindred stories proved to be pure inventions, and
after a fortnight’s delay a messenger arrived to conduct Park to Sego,
bringing with him an encouraging account of Mansong’s disposition
towards him.
The drastic methods of the emissaries of negro kings were well
illustrated by the following incident. A native refusing to give up a
canoe for the messenger’s use, the latter not only seized the canoe in
question, but cut the owner across the forehead with his sword, broke
the brother’s head with a paddle, and finally made a slave of the son.
Before such deeds criticism was dumb.
And now all seemed about to go well with the expedition. Cradled on
the majestic bosom of the great river, with toils and worry over,
its leader could afford to allow himself to be lulled into a sweet
dreamland, in which he saw himself gliding peacefully towards the Congo
and the Atlantic. Of goods he had still sufficient for his object--of
men, too, there were enough; and with mind thus comparatively at ease,
he could give himself up to the enjoyment of the beautiful views of
“this immense river--sometimes as smooth as a mirror, at others ruffled
by a gentle breeze, but at all times sweeping along at the rate of six
or seven miles an hour.”
In two days Yamina was reached, and a third brought the party to
Sami, where once more they halted while the messenger went forward to
inform Mansong of their proximity, and ask instructions concerning
them. Two days later Isaaco joined them from Sego. He reported that
Mansong’s position was very neutral. The king showed impatience when
the subject of the white men was broached, though he had said that they
were at liberty to pass down the river. In addition he gave Isaaco to
understand that he wanted no direct dealings with Park.
On the following day a king’s messenger arrived to receive Mansong’s
present from Park’s own hands, as well as to hear the object of his
visit. In his speech the traveller told how he was the same poor white
man who, after being plundered by the Moors, was so hospitably received
by their king, whose generous conduct had made his name much respected
in the country of the Europeans. He then proceeded to point out what
a trading people his (the traveller’s) were, and how all the articles
of value that reached the country of Mansong were made by them, being
afterwards brought by Moors and others by long and expensive routes,
which made everything extremely dear. That these European goods might
be brought cheaper to Bambarra for the mutual benefit of whites and
blacks, his king had sent him to see if a short and easy route could
not be found by way of the Niger. If such was discovered, then the
white men’s vessels would come direct all the way from Europe and
supply them with abundance of all their good things at cheap prices.
In reply to this speech the emissary said that the white man’s journey
was a good one, and prayed that God might prosper him in it. Mansong
would protect him. The sight of the presents added to the friendly
feelings thus expressed.
To dash Park’s joy at the favourable aspect of affairs two more
soldiers died--one of fever, the other of dysentery--leaving him with
only four men, besides Anderson and Martyn.
In a couple of days the king sent a further message intimating that
the white strangers would be protected, and that wherever his power
and influence extended the road would be open to them. If they went
East, no man would harm them till beyond Timbuktu. Westward, the name
of Mansong’s stranger would be a safe password through the land to the
Atlantic itself. If they wished to sail down the river, they were at
liberty to build boats at any town they pleased.
As Mansong had never once expressed a wish to see him, and seemingly
had some superstitious fear of the possible consequence, Park fixed
upon Sansandig as the best place to prepare for his new adventure.
Here, too, he would have more quiet, and would be more exempt from
begging, than within the daily range of the king’s officials.
In his passage from Sami to Sansandig, Park was attacked by a violent
fever, which rendered him temporarily delirious. According to the
sufferer, the heat was so terrific as to have been equal to the
roasting of a sirloin, and there was neither covering to ward it off
nor slightest puff of wind to temper it.
On reaching his destination the traveller was received by his old
friend Kunti Mamadi, who placed the necessary huts at his disposal. On
the following day two more of his men expired, and it began to look as
if at the very moment when success seemed assured he was to be doomed
to lose all. So frightfully were they all reduced at this time, and so
little able to look after each other, that, unmolested, hyenas entered
the dead men’s hut, dragged one of them out, and devoured him.
From Park’s journal we get an interesting glimpse of Sansandig, with
its 11,000 inhabitants and its mosques, of which two were by “no means
inelegant.” But, as in all African towns, it was the market-place
which was the centre of life and interest. From morning till night
the square was crowded with busy groups of people gathered round the
various mat-covered stalls which formed the shops, each containing its
own speciality--beads in every gorgeous hue to catch the eye of the
ornament-loving sex, antimony to darken and beautify the tips of the
ladies’ eyelids, rings and bracelets to attract wandering male glances
to female feet and hands. In more substantial houses were scarlet
cloths, silks, amber, and other valuable commodities which had found
their way across the desert from Morocco or Tripoli--over roads marked
out by the skeletons of slaves and camels who had sunk down to perish
under the frightful hardships of the route. Vegetables, meat, salt,
&c., each had their own stalls--beer, too, in large quantities, near a
booth where leather work found its purchasers.
Such was the everyday state of the square; but the scene was still
more animated and interesting on the occasion of the Tuesday weekly
market. On that day enormous crowds of people gathered from the whole
surrounding country to buy and sell wholesale, and many were the
delightful glimpses of native life and character continually presenting
themselves to the eyes of the observant traveller. He even found a
means whereby to turn the market to his own advantage.
Mansong being slow in carrying out his promise to supply canoes to
be turned into boats, Park opened a shop himself for the purpose of
exchanging some of his articles for cowries, by which he hoped to
purchase the necessary means of transport. He made such a tempting
display that he had at once a great run of business, and became the
envy of all the merchants of the place. In one day he secured 25,000
cowries.
While thus peacefully employed, every effort was being made on the part
of the Moors and native merchants in order to set Mansong against the
white man, and get him killed, or sent back by the way he had come.
They even did not hesitate to say that his object was to kill the
king and his sons by means of charms. Mansong, however, was not to be
prevailed on by such instigations, though his behaviour showed some
belief in the reported magical powers.
After much delay, Park succeeded in obtaining two canoes, to join
which together he and Bolton, the sole remaining capable man, now set
themselves with great vigour. The rotten parts were replaced, the holes
were repaired, and after eighteen days’ hard labour the united canoes
were launched and christened His Majesty’s schooner _Joliba_, the
length being forty feet, and the breadth six. Being flat-bottomed, it
drew only one foot of water.
While Park was thus toiling with feverish energy to complete his
preparations, Martyn seems to have been taking life very easily.
From a letter written from Sansandig to a friend at Goree we get
an idea of the sort of man he was, and how much he assisted in the
work of the expedition. “Whitebread’s beer,” says the Lieutenant,
“is nothing to what we get at this place, as I feel by my head this
morning, having been drinking all night with a Moor, and ended by
giving him an excellent thrashing.” Could the contrast possibly be
greater between Park and this man--the one possessed with a consuming
desire to accomplish a work seemingly beyond mortal power, slaving
with the strength of half-a-dozen ordinary men, uncrushed by a myriad
misfortunes, his hero’s spirit equal to every difficulty and danger;
the other spending his time in drunken orgies, seemingly as careless of
his life as indifferent to the great mission that was partly his.
The last and worst stroke of evil fortune that could befall Park came
upon him in the form of his brother-in-law Anderson’s death, which
occurred on the 28th October. He had been Park’s special support in
all his trials, ever the one to whom he could open his heart, or from
whom he could seek advice and encouragement. His thoughts and feelings
on the occasion, Park, with characteristic reserve, does not put on
paper, though he cannot help observing “that no event which took place
during the journey ever threw the smallest gloom on my mind till I laid
Mr. Anderson in the grave. I then felt myself as if left a second time
lonely and friendless amidst the wilds of Africa.”